You Can't Save Them All
by Maddie
Summary: Tag to episode 4-4.  An anomaly had opened at the McKinnon School.  Two were dead, Becker was injured.  Jess was concerned that no one had heard from Becker after he left the ARC and decided call and see is he was alright.
1. You Can't Save Them All

**Title**: You Can't Save Them All  
><strong>Author<strong>: maddie_amber

**Disclaimer:** The characters and situations portrayed in Primeval belong to someone else. Only the plot of this story belongs to me.

**Summary: **Tag to Episode 4-4. It was just a social call to check on a injured friend, Jess told herself.  
>A special thanks to <span>Marinawings<span> for beta assistance. Greatly appreciated!

**You Can't Save Them All**

Jess Parker felt the warm flush of embarrassment creeping up her face even as she mentally chastised herself for her reaction. She had closed her fist and raised her hand to knock on his door when the when the heat of blood rushing to her cheeks made her pause. She had no reason to be embarrassed. _None at all. None._ She had come to check on a friend who had suffered a painful, life-threatening injury. That was all. She wasn't going to turn back now, although no-one knew she planned to call and no-one would be the wiser if she did or didn't. _But_, she told herself again, _this is just a social call, not a date_. It had been two days since Becker's injury at the McKinnon School. Two days since a pack of Therocephalians had rampaged through the high school building. Two days since she had watched as one of them had torn a young girl apart like – no, she would not think of that. This was not about her and that did not matter now.

Her mental wrangling took only moments and when she finished she had recapturing her resolve. Rapping sharply on the door, she waited for a response. Her knock was met with silence. Holding her breath she forced herself to calmly count to 30 before knocking again, more forcefully. She felt her heart sinking. Perhaps he wasn't home. He might be feeling well enough to have stepped out with friends. Just because she couldn't ferret out the information, didn't mean he didn't have friends. Possibly even a girlfriend. Maybe she was an unwanted guest he didn't need. Maybe this idea had been a huge mistake.

She should just leave. Leave before she really did have a reason to be blushing. She was just turning to away from the door when she heard a distinct thud, and a less distinct groan from the other side of the door. Unless he truly did have a visiting lady friend, thuds and groans were not good sounds.

"Captain Becker," she called out tentatively.

There was no answer. But she heard a shuffling, dragging noise approaching the door. It reminded her of sound effects from a bad zombie movie she had watched alone, in a dark, dark theater when she was much too young for that sort of thing. The sound had terrified her then and it brought back wretched memories of that terror now. As the deadbolt slid aside and the door cracked open she felt herself smiling weakly.

"Captain Becker. It's me, Jess. I stopped to see how you were doing." Jess cringed. That line certainly sounded like a statement her grandmother would have come up with.

The door opened wider and Becker leaned heavily on the door jam. He looked like hell, his hair disheveled, ugly blue shadows under eyes that hadn't quite focused on her, as though he had just awoken from a deep or drugged sleep. There were high spots of color on his cheeks and a sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. Without thinking, Jess reached out and brushed the backs of her fingers against his face.

"You're burning up with fever," she said.

"I've felt better." He pushed himself upright and she could tell it took tremendous effort for him to stand. "Look, Jess, I'm really not in the mood for company."

"I'm not here to be company. Well, I was," she fumbled, "but I'm also here to check on you. No one has heard from you and we were concerned."

"We?"

She could hear the sarcasm in his comment.

"Yes, we," _but mostly me_, she added mentally. "We know nothing about the long-term effects of the venom you were injected with." She pushed the door open enough to slip into the room and was immediately assailed by the powerful odor alcohol. "Captain Becker," she said sternly, "you should know better than to mix alcohol with the drugs you were given."

For a moment he looked confused then shook his head. "Not drinking it," he said. "Broke a bottle. Not that getting drunk didn't sound like a good idea."

Jess could see that he was swaying on his feet. "Look, let me help you to the couch." Before he could object she wrapped one arm around his waist and guided him across the room. As she lowered him to the couch she knew he was biting back another groan. Her concern became alarm as she helped lift his injured leg. This time he did groan, and the color drained from his face.

"Becker, I need to look at your leg."

"Are you a doctor now?" His voice was sharp with pain.

"No, but I need to see what we're dealing with before I call one." She packed as much authority into her voice as she could muster. She stopped there as she realized he would have to remove his trousers and noted, in what she hoped was clinically appropriate detachment, that he was wearing the same blue jeans he'd had on when he left the ARC. She also noted that he glared. He had obviously come to the same conclusion.

"You're going to have to cut the leg," he said. "Not my leg, the - "

"Yes," Jess interrupted as she breathed an inward sigh of relief. That small problem was more easily solved than she had anticipated.

"I really don't think they are coming off any other way," he added in an exasperated tone.

"Right. I know," she answered, almost too quickly. "Cut." Knife, scissors, she needed something sharp.

She allowed herself a quick look around his flat. It was surprisingly Spartan, as though he never quite finished moving in, or expected to leave after a short time and had added nothing personal to its interior. _So unlike her own place_, she thought. He did, she noted quickly, have one tall bookshelf, overflowing with books. She would love to take a look at what he was reading. _The books people read tell you a lot about them_, she thought. The only other decoration, if you could call it that, was a wall covered with antique guns of every sort. Their barrels immaculate and rust free, the wooden stocks buffed to a soft patina gleamed in the low light from the kitchen. _You could tell a lot about a person from what they collected too, _she added.

Turning towards the kitchen she rummaged through drawers, until she found what she needed then returned to the couch. She could see he was in pain by rigid way he held his body, his fists gripping the cushions, white knuckled with effort. He glanced up as he heard her approach and she saw his eyes widen with alarm as he focused on the 10-inch butcher knife she gripped firmly in her hand.

"That's not exactly what I had in mind," he said.

"I'm really very good with a knife," she blurted. Then realized she must look like a slasher.

"I'm sure you are," he said weakly, tensing as she approached.

"I promise I won't cut anything vital," she murmured, not quite apologetically. If he hadn't been in such dire distress she could have had a great deal of fun with the current situation. "When was the last time you took any pain medication?"

He closed his eyes as if thinking then shook his head. "I…really…can't remember."

"That means you either took some recently and it's affecting your memory, or you haven't had any and the pain and fever are affecting your memory."

"Or…" he hesitated as though struggling to grasp an elusive thought. "You said it's been two days…since…the incident at the school."

"Yes,"

"I don't remember," his voice faltered. "I remember driving home. Parking. Then walking into the building and up to my flat."

"And," Jess verbally nudged his memory.

"By the time I got inside, my whole body was tingling, my feet were numb, I could barely feel my hands. I remember pouring a drink, then deciding it wasn't a good idea. I couldn't even hold the glass. My head was pounding, so I lay down on the couch. The next thing I remember was you knocking on the door."

It hurt Jess to see the look of confusion on his always confident face. "It could have been a delayed reaction to the venom," she offered.

Becker just nodded, uncertainty etched in his features.

"We can figure that out later. I need to take care of this leg. Hold still," she said as she slid the knife into the bottom of his trouser leg. She could feel him tense as the cold metal contacted fevered skin. Becker it appeared was as meticulous about keeping an edge on a knife as he was about cleaning weapons. For that she was thankful as the knife slid effortlessly through the tough denim with little force. Still, the sound of sharp steel sheering fabric set her teeth on edge. She peeled the material back as gently as she could and tried to keep her face expressionless.

"That bad?" Becker's question was hissed through clenched teeth.

Blood had seeped through the heavy bandage wrapped around the bite wound, leaving a dark stain on the surface. "This needs to be changed," Jess said as matter-of-factly as she could. "Did the infirmary staff send home spare bandages?"

Becker pointed to a white bag on a small table next to the door.

Jess quickly retrieved the bag assessing its contents as she returned to the kitchen. Inside were bandages, suture scissors, sterile saline to flush the wound, and betadine for washing. She quickly cleansed her hands with the betadine, then hurried back to Becker.

Carefully, she used the suture scissors to snip at the blood stained bandage peeling back the layers. As she tried to ease the gauze away from the wound, Becker sucked in his breath sharply. "Sorry, sorry," she said quickly. "It has to come off."

"I know."

Jess finished the job as gently as she could, but the seeping wound had adhered to the bandage and in the end she had to be less gentle than she would have preferred. "This is not good," she said absently as the last of the gauze pulled away. She had talked to the doctors at the ARC ,and she knew the wound had been deep, tearing through muscle and requiring multiple stitches. But the edges of the wound were now ragged and inflamed, and bone deep bruises from the crushing strength of the animal's jaws had darkened most of Becker's thigh. She did not like the way the wound looked nor did she like the fact that he obviously was running a temperature.

"Maybe it would be wise if you went to hospital," she suggested.

Becker snickered. "And do you want to tell them how this happened? Or should I?"

"No. But there's infection."

"Some prehistoric bacteria no local doctor has ever had to deal with." Becker shifted slightly, grunting as he jarred his leg. "Look," he continued in a gentler tone, "if it hasn't improved by morning I'll report back to the ARC and let the doctors there have a go."

"And if it gets worse, we don't wait until morning."

"We?"

Jess stood her ground. "Someone needs to look after you. Look at yourself after only two days. If I hadn't come to call, what might have happened?"

Becker looked resigned as he closed his eyes and rested his head back on the cushions. "Okay."

Jess was somewhat surprised that he capitulated without more argument. Maybe he felt so bad that her company would actually be welcome. "I need to clean this wound, put on fresh bandages. Did they give you antibiotics?"

"Yes."

Jess spread the contents of the bag on the floor where she could easily reach everything . Gently, she lifted his leg and slid a protective pad under his knee and thigh. Returning to the kitchen she rummaged until she found a suitable basin, filled it with warm water and betadine, and returned to Becker's side.

"It will hurt less if you relax," she instructed. "Try taking deep breaths in through your nose. Out through your mouth. Concentrate on your breathing not on what I'm doing."

Becker nodded, and she heard his breathing settle into a smooth, disciplined rhythm.

Jess worked quickly to cleanse the dried blood from his thigh and redress the wound. She did not like the look of Becker's leg and vowed to herself that the slightest sign that his injury or fever was worsening and they would be off to the ARC. In the meantime, she would make him as comfortable as she could, whether he objected or not.

"You're very good at that."

Jess looked up to see that he was watching her. She could feel herself blushing again.

"I meant that. Seriously."

"Good at it for a kid you mean." And why did she always feel the need to defend the fact that she was so much younger than he was. She _was_ young. Sometimes, when he was close to her, she felt as girlish as he seemed to think she was.

"No," he said quietly. "I wasn't teasing you."

Jess took a deep breath of her own, fighting her own irrational defensiveness. "My mother was a doctor." She continued to work as she talked. "She volunteered at a free clinic and sometimes I would help her with basic care. I thought about a career in medicine."

"Why did you change your mind?" Becker winced as she drew the new bandages snuggly around his leg.

"Sorry," she said.

"So why did you decide not to go into medicine?" He repeated his question.

"Because you can't save everyone," she answered.

Becker winced again, not from physical pain, but, she guessed, from the implication of her comment and the memory of the last time she had spoken those words to him.

"I remember how disturbed my mother would be when she lost a patient - when she had to tell a family that she had failed to keep their loved one alive. She never accepted the fact that there were some deaths she simply could not prevent."

Jess had found the bottles of medication along with the fresh bandages. She counted the correct dosage and handed them to him. "Antibiotics and pain killers," she informed him.

There was a long moment of silence as she finished her work and began to clean up. When she glanced at Becker his face was an unreadable mask. "You said your mother _was_ a doctor?"

"After my father died, she lost interest in her practice. She couldn't bear to lose another patient. Eventually she went on to become a teacher."

"Sorry about your father."

"That was several years ago." Jess shrugged her shoulders.

"Your parents had a good marriage."

"Yes. They truly were in love despite the difference in their ages."

Becker was silent.

She needed to convince him that, in her mind, the age thing truly was not important. The Parker women always married 'up' in age. Mother had admonished her to 'marry _up_ to your IQ, not _down_ to your hormones.' Not that marriage was at all part of the game right now. She wasn't even sure of what she felt for Becker beyond a powerful attraction. She was here as a friend and nothing more to make sure he was recovering and that he did not need anything.

"My father was 13 years my mother's senior." Jess volunteered, as though that alone should end any issue Becker had with the difference in their ages. "I'm going to fix you a bite to eat. Those medications will sit better on your stomach if you have food in it." With those words she scooped up the remaining medical supplies and headed once more to the kitchen leaving Becker to ponder her words. She found his refrigerator seriously under stocked and wished she'd thought to pick up Chinese on the way. Still, Jess managed to find enough to make a decent sandwich and a hot cup of tea.

When she returned several minutes later Becker's his face was as closed as it had been before she left, distant and thoughtful. She moved the small table beside the door and positioned it next to the couch, setting the tray of food beside him.

"You really should eat something," she coaxed gently.

"Look, Jess, I said you could stay. I didn't say I was going to be good company."

She sensed, no she knew, there was more bothering him than just his injury. He had taken the deaths of the teacher and student personally, as though he had been directly responsible. "I don't expect good company," she said, honestly, "I just want to make sure you're all right."

He remained silent. There was little else she could do if he did not want to talk. Briskly she walked back to the kitchen and located a broom. She came back to the main room and began sweeping up the broken glass by the fireplace hearth. She assumed it was source of the whiskey smell. She suspected the bottle had not simply been dropped - thrown perhaps judging from the violent dispersal of smashed glass. Had Becker thrown the bottle in a fit of anger or self loathing? It was not for her to criticize or judge. He would talk about it in his own good time, if ever.

"You don't have to do that," Becker said quietly.

Dare she think, sheepishly? "It's no problem," she answered, keeping her tone light. It really wasn't a problem.

"Your mother was wrong," he said after a long moment of silence.

Jess turned to look at him, broom still in her hand.

"Not being able to save them all was no reason to quit." He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, resting his head on the cushion.

Before she could formulate an argument the meds won the war with his consciousness and he finally drifted off to sleep. She waited, almost expecting him to open his eyes and continue the conversation. But he was truly, deeply asleep. _Maybe_, she thought, _that is as much as he will ever say on the matter_. She hoped he had made peace with his own actions. He truly had been brilliant, and two young boys had him, Matt and Connor to thank for their lives. She would never forget the young girl who died, nor the horrible way she passed, but she would never quit her position at the ARC because of it.

Jess finished cleaning up the glass, picked up the untouched tray of food and returned it to the kitchen, then went in search of the bedroom and a blanket. She covered Becker, tucking in the edges to make sure he stayed warm, gently felt his forehead brushing a stray lock of hair into place as she did. He still had a fever, but his face was less flushed. Sleep should do wonders, giving the antibiotics a chance to work.

Walking to the bookshelf, she glanced at its overflowing contents, selected a volume, then when back to where Becker slept. Curling up in the arm chair next to the couch, she cracked open the volume and settled in for the night.

end


	2. The Day After

**Author's Note: **When I wrote "You Can't Save Them All" it was intended to be a one shot, stand alone story. Then I had the idea for a sequel, and a prequel, then it all became a series of stories interconnected by an underlying story. The Tangled Web series. This is story three (or chapter three depending on your point of view). Story/chapter one is "Damage Control" and although Becker does not appear in that story, it does set the scene for the action that follows so I encourage you to read that story as well. Story/chapter two is "You Can't Save Them All". Enjoy! - Maddie

**The Day After**

She awoke to the scent of lemon and a sharp pain in her neck from sleeping curled up in an armchair. Befuddled by sleep, Jess Parker sat up rubbing her eyes, momentarily disoriented and unsure of her surroundings. On a small table next to her sat a steaming cup of freshly brewed tea, honey and several slices of lemon. Cautiously, she tipped her head in the opposite direction to relieve the twinge.

"Good Morning." Becker stood in the doorway to the kitchen, the barrel of a disassembled rifle in one hand, polishing cloth in the other, meticulously buffing the metal as he spoke.

"Becker?" she said questioningly, and then remembered she had come to check on him last evening. Intending to stay only long enough to assure herself he was alright, she had found him, still suffering from the effects of the _Therocephalian_ bite wound on his thigh, running a high fever. She had immediately gone into "Dr. Parker" mode, redressing is wound, dosing him with antibiotics and fever reducers, and keeping watch through the night.

His sleep had been tormented by fevered dreams and pain from his wound. Crying out, he had called the names of those he had lost, reliving in his nightmares struggles and failures only he perceived as failure. She had held his hand, though he did not know she was present, woke him enough to force him to take medication, and swore to herself she would never discuss anything he had said in his delirium. Somewhere in the early hours, the fever broke and he finally settled into a restful sleep. The last thing she remembered was curling up in this armchair.

Becker looked better than she currently felt. He had obviously been up long enough to have showered, shaved and changed into fresh clothes. The clean scent of soap competed with the scent of lemon.

"You shouldn't have showered. You need to keep the bandages dry," she croaked through a sleep-congested throat. That sounded horrible, she admonished herself. Berating him and you've barely woken up yourself.

"I didn't and I did," he answered with a slight grin. "After a tour in Afghanistan you learn to bathe in a teacup."

"Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to – "

"Reprimand me?" Becker finished her sentence.

She nodded. "Sorry," she said again.

"I'm the one who should apologize. For being a stubborn idiot." He looked at her steadily, and she felt herself blushing. She must look a fright after sleeping in an armchair all night. "Thank you, Jess. I'm not the best patient. But things might have gone very badly had you not intervened last night."

"How is your leg?"

"Better."

"Pain?"

"It throbs a bit. I feel like I have a tree trunk attached to my hip, but no worse when I stand on it."

Jess stretched, reached for her tea, and glanced at her watch. A thrill of panic went through her.

"Oh my God, I was supposed to be at work an hour ago." She jumped to her feet, almost upsetting her cup in the process. For a moment she just stood stupidly still feeling out of kilter with the world. Realizing she was barefooted, Jess began searching frantically for the shoes she had kicked off in the middle of the night.

"Jess," Becker said calmly making no effort to help her search.

"This is horrible." She managed to find one shoe under the chair on which she had fallen asleep and pulled it on her foot.

"Jess."

"Lester is going to kill me." Bending over she groped, found what she was after and dragged the second shoe from under the couch. She stood up, one shoe on and one off in a lopsided pose.

"Jess," Becker repeated again, suppressed laughter in his voice.

"Worse, Lester is going to fire me." Pulling on the second shoe she ran her fingers through her hair wincing as she encountered a tangled mess.

"Jess, calm down."

"I have to go. I have never been late or taken an unscheduled day off. What will Lester think," Jess breathed out in a huff.

"Jess, slow down." There was the hint of a grin on his face. He set the gun barrel down and limped closer to where she stood.

"I can't. I really have to run." She scooped up the book she had begun to read the night before and placed it back on the bookshelf.

"You should come along with me. Have the doctors at the ARC check you over."

"Jess, listen to me please." He reached out and took her by the shoulders, slowing her manic forward momentum. "There is no need for you to rush. I've spoken with Lester. He said you can report when you're ready or take a holiday if you prefer. You're covered."

"You what?" Jess froze in her tracks.

"I talked to Lester. Explained what happened. Told him you were here."

"You told him I spent the night?" Jess felt her eyes widen with alarm and her heart began to thump harder in her chest.

"When your cell rang, I thought about lying and telling him that only your phone had spent the night, but decided truth was the better course."

Jess stepped away, turned her back to him then turned around to face him. How often had she fantasized that one day she might spend the night here, but hearing him say the words, knowing someone else knew, was a step she hadn't been prepared to take and an interest she wasn't quite ready to admit. Her stomach did a wretched flip flop as the thought sunk in.

"The entire ARC now knows I spent the night at Captain Becker's flat." She hoped her voice didn't sound like a wail of despair.

"Nothing happened, Jess."

"Nothing _had_ to happen." She looked at him and hoped he did not take her words the wrong way. "You do not know how fertile Connor's imagination can be. He will create an entire porn film in his mind. And probably share it with anyone who will listen."

"Nothing happened." Becker had stepped closer, standing less than a foot away his eyes locked on hers.

She blew away a strand of hair that tickled across her nose. She raised and lowered her hands then brought them both to her forehead, eyes closed. "It doesn't matter. I'll have the reputation without having done anything." She opened her eyes and looked directly into his.

"We could fix that," he said in a soft whisper. Becker's intense gaze, his closeness, the clean scent of soap mingled with gun oil that she had come to think of as distinctly his fragrance, did more to settle her scrambled wits than a good swift slap. Her jaw dropped, snapped shut again, and once more she felt the heat of embarrassment rising to her cheeks. "Trust me, Jess. Neither Connor nor anyone else will make any scathing comments. I told Lester the truth. If you hadn't stopped by last night who knows how sick I might have become. Give Lester some credit. He understands. He will be discrete."

She flopped down into the chair again, elbows on knees and her face in her hands. "Sorry," she said again, looking up at him.

This time he did grin. "Stop apologizing. You had a long night I'm sure. You'll feel better after a bit of breakfast. There's a lovely cafe a half block from here. Let me buy you something to eat. You can think on it, and if you decide to go in to the ARC for the rest of the day, I'm sure Lester will be glad to have you and nothing will be said. "

Jess ran her fingers through her hair again. She felt disheveled and out of sorts. Becker apparently sensed her discomfort.

"Look, Jess, my kitchen might be sorely short on food, but the bathroom has plenty of hot water, soap, shampoo and clean towels. Drink your tea. Get freshened up. I guarantee you'll feel better, and then you can decide on the breakfast."

Thirty five minutes later she emerged from the now steamy bathroom, hair wet, and her face scrubbed clean of make-up. She did feel better, even though she wore the same crumpled clothes she had worn all night, and was distinctly uncomfortable facing Becker with dripping hair and without her makeup. He nodded approvingly none-the-less, and she told herself she would not blush when she saw his eyes run up and down her body from wet hair to bare feet.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Breakfast? Or do you want to go straight away to the ARC?"

"I think breakfast would be lovely. I'm already late. What's another hour or so? But I don't think it would be wise for you to walk. Not even half a block. You've already been up on that leg too long."

"I'm not going to be able to fit this leg into your car either. We take my SUV. But you'll have to drive." He held out the keys to her. It was only then she noticed he was leaning rather heavily on a sleek black cane. He acknowledged her curious look with a shrug. "Souvenir." He made no further comment, but held his free arm out to her. "Shall we."

With shoes in one hand she slipped the other through his proffered arm.

# # #

He stood in the shadows, undetected. He had spent most of his life learning to be obscure, to blend into the background unnoticed and ignored. A lesson he had learned from _them _so many years ago. That was why he had survived. That was why he was so good at what he did. Watching, waiting and striking from obscurity. His victims never knew he was observing them until he chose to reveal his presence. By then it was too late.

It had not taken him long to connect with the information underground that pulsed through the city as it did in every city he had ever been in regardless of the age. Where there was money to be made, revenge to be sought, trades to be bartered, bodies to be exchanged, whether legally or illicitly, the network provided a conduit to connect those who wanted something done with those willing to do, for a price.

It had not taken long for the bounty to be named. An outraged and grief stricken father possessed with sufficient capital to avenge the tragically inexplicable death of his only daughter had set the price. His request was a simple - present any information leading to kidnapping and subsequent punishment of those responsible for failing to protect his child.

Standing in the shadows, the small silver cased box in his hand, he still marveled that photography had come so far. He waited until they had settled at an outdoor table, heads bend together over steaming mugs. Their muffled voices were too soft for him to understand the words they exchanged, but words were not important. Only the pictures were important.


End file.
